Page 120 of Whisper of Nightmares

There is no recognition in his gaze.

Euphemia feels herself losing him.

So she does the only thing she can think to do.

Leaning up from where she lies, Euphemia presses a hand to his bare chest. The touch is meant to tell him she is there. That she is with him. That he is not alone.

When even that doesn’t reach him, she dips her chin beneath the rough edge of his skull.

She plants a kiss upon his neck.

The earth shudders to a stop.

Her lips release, but for one frightful moment, she does not move. Is too afraid of looking up and finding those firelit eyes staring down at her again. But it’s not the flames that scare her. It’s the look of unknowing. The fear of being a stranger to him again. Not after everything they’ve endured. Survived. After everything she’s just told him while he’s listened and comforted.

Before her chest can crack, a tender hand touches her chin.

His fingers gently bring her head up to face his.

Relief washes through her when her eyes meet his crystal blue gaze.

He stares at her, unblinking. A shuddering breath moving through him.

“That was reckless,” he says.

She flashes a rueful smile. “My theory was right…mostly.”

For a moment, he seems too distracted by her lips to respond. His thumb brushes over her chin, hesitating.

Finally, he releases her. “What was your theory? How did you make the ground quake?”

“It’s not me. It’s you.” Ash offers her his hand again, and this time she accepts, the two of them rising from the rubble. Euphemia continues. “It has to do with your memories, I think. It seems when you are confronted by them, this place doesn’t like it.”

He taps the chin of his skull. “I thought I was starting to remember something. But it went away so quickly, I felt like I was falling into darkness until you⁠—”

“Brought you back,” Euphemia supplies for him, fighting the blush creeping into her face.

Laughter rumbles in his chest, quiet but not hidden.

Euphemia focuses instead on what they’ve learned.

“It was working,” she says, considering his words. “But the curse fought back before you could fully grasp it.”

“The curse?” he asks, wryness in his tone.

She waves him off, unwilling to be deterred. “Perhaps we need something stronger. I was using my memories to try to remind you of things from your life. But perhaps that’s not good enough. Maybe we need something truly yours.”

“If it means you might grace me with your soft lips again, I am willing to try anything.”

That treacherous heart of hers stutters.

She shields her face so he cannot see the crimson shade that becomes of her.

“Where do you suggest we look?” he asks.

And then, as soon as the question leaves his mouth, the answer comes to her.

Euphemia glances around the upper floor again.